Order in Disorder
by Alias.Maxima
Summary: Order in Disorder. Entropy in Stability. A world in chaos. What truly happened at Project Nexus? What is Alva's real name? More importantly, who is Jebidiah Christoff?
1. Cocaine and Crackdown

_10 Years before the events of Madness Combat 1._

_The AAHW, the Agency Against Human Warfare, is still amassing immense power; in the world of the shadows, it dominates, using an immense privatized army and massive R&D facilities to oust all black market competition. With its sheer underground power, it manipulates politics, placing favorable officials in both the mayor's office and the White House. Its ongoing battle with the lone opposing faction, which had long ago renamed itself to the Anti-AAHW, remains a clandestine war, covered in black ink and criss-crossed with anti-hacking firewalls. With the aid of the AAHW, the Sheriff has recently been elected mayor of Somewhere-In-Nevada (known as SIN). Despite the recent massive crime rate increases, mysterious kidnappings, and rampant corruption of SIN, two previously-unknown scientists make the most important discovery of the century..._

_...a discovery that would plunge the nation into chaos:_

* * *

The Improbability Thesis

_Co Authored:_ **[CENSORED]** _and_ **[CENSORED]**

...Improbability is natural.

Everything is naturally random, or inclined towards randomness. When you drop a glass ball on the ground, it shatters, causing shards to scatter in a random distribution. When water comes out a fountain, the globules of liquid splatter in a random distribution. Most famously, when you roll a die or flip a coin, it shows an unpredictable randomness...that is, until now.

Proved and described in extensive detail here (please refer to: appendix **[CENSORED]**) is the improbability equation. With it, it is possible to find answers to seemingly "random" questions.

For instance, when I roll a 91-sided die, and the weather is sunny, I can predict with 100% accuracy the resulting number. Such is the power of the improbability equation.

The improbability drive is a machine that is capable of performing these calculations on an unprecedented basis. Because randomness is inherent in the random-stable continuum, doing many improbability equations will accordingly cause more randomness in the vicinity, so that nature may maintain an equilibrium of order and entropy. This is because the improbability equation brings the order of mathematics into the disorder of nature, and thus disrupts the balance of the random-stable continuum.

However, the improbability drive can manipulate objects by eliminating all possibilities of randomness except one for a certain item. For instance, if I wanted to move a rock south, the drive eliminates the possibility of it levitating into the air, or the possibility of it turning into a caterpillar. The sheer volume of equations done by the drive is immense; it may cause irreparable repercussions to its surrounding environment.

Therefore, as a resolution, we are proposing active usage and testing of the Improbability drive MK-1 to discern the possible consequences of large-scale use of the improbability drive. To do so, we would require a considerable amount of funding, well-trained (and well-equipped) safety personnel, a 30 kiloton nuclear fail-safe with a manual detonator, and a 100-sided die...

**Analysis:** Excellent proposal, men. I will retain this for additional study. Rendezvous with the scientists of the reincarnation department at area code** [ATTACHED: LOCATION ENCRYPTED]** to possibly ascertain better results. Your packages will be waiting there. Permission to proceed has been GRANTED.

I anxiously await your good news. Sincerely,

Sheriff

PS: Should this information be leaked to ones unaware of the circumstances, you both will be sent to a re-education center.

* * *

_Elsewhere:_

"...and that's the letter!" Alva leaned back on his swivel chair, tossing the papers in the air like so many pieces of confetti. "Who hoo! We got the money! Purple Pillow Party! I own you, JC! I own SIN! I own the universe! YAHAHAHHAAHHAHAAHAA-"

"It is ready. And you are high on cocaine again." Christoff wiped the sweat from his brow as he slid the last piece in place with a satisfying click, completely ignoring his partner's antics. They were excusable, considering that Alva was the most intelligent druggie on the planet.

"HAA-Sure! He hee hee! Cool! _You_ can has ze honors, monsieur! I, on the other hand, must, _must_,** _must_** fix the lack of hippopotamuses in this room! Ha haa! Also! Can't you use contractions?"

"...The honors? Of what? And furthermore, what are contractions?"

Alva spun in his chair, gesticulating frantically. "Geez! The honors of turnin' on the damn thing. What else? And contractions ar..."

Christoff raised his hand, cutting off Alva's explanation. One hundred and ninety centimeters of man-smiting bad-assitude rose as Christoff stood and stood square to Alva, who was puny by comparison. Alva, despite remembering the many times that Christoff had to fight off hired thugs and professional hit-men, seemed to not give a shit. But then again, Alva was high.

Christoff tightened his deceptively strong grasp on Alva's shoulder, his face and voice portraying little more than cold, cold steel. "You have read the papers. You know that all objects in the vicinity may become extremely unusu..."

"Unusual? What the hell about this world _isn't_ unusual in the first place! Eh?" Alva grinned a three-inch grin, and sneezed, skewing his square spectacles as white powder billowed from his right nostril. He shrugged off Christoff's grasp and fanatically pounced at the power-on button.

"NO! We are supposed to take the drive to the designated coordinates!"

But, of course, it was too late. Christoff, sensing the inevitable was to occur, dove behind a desk

"Not knowing! That's the best part, JC! **Let it rrrrip! HYAAAAAAAAAAAAA!**"

Jebidah Christoff covered his head, and more importantly, his ears, as Alva slammed the button with a white-knuckled fist.

* * *

"..."

"Get up."

"...ooog..."

Alva curled up into a fetal ball. The ground was cold.

"Get up. Now."

"Yeah. I know. Shit happened. Sorry. Now leave me alone. Mmgh."

"No. There are other issues."

"Yeah. I can tell without even looking that my dealers are here. Take care of them, please."

"No. Not dealers."

Alva raised his eyebrows as he finally opened his eyes. They were at the outskirts of SIN; three armed men in monochrome gray uniforms to his right; helicopters circled something in the distance. It seemed that an immense marshmallow had fallen out of the sky and demolished a local fast-food place.

"Alva. The drive is secure, but these men are here to apprehend us for disobeying the Sheriff."

Alva closed one eye and stole a quick glance at them before plopping back onto the ground.

"They are the drug dealers, here for some debt from five years ago. They took advantage of the chaos and looted the bodies of some of the Sheriff's grunts, which is why their concealed personal defense weapons do not match standard issue for the grunts. The stocky guy has the Sheriff's letter: it's sticking out of his back pocket. That's how they know the Sheriff's plans. Oh, and the dude in the middle scratched his name onto his wristwatch band. Hello again, Johnny. Take care of them, JC. I gotta sleep the last high off."

"Is this true?" Christoff's glare pierced through "Johnny's" skull and began to bore into the man adjacent to him, who began to uncontrollably shiver.

Johnny hesitated for a second before he snapped the rifle to his shoulder. "Alright! Fine! Act's up, boys! Gimme the drive or shit's gonna get messy."

Christoff gazed pointedly at the gun barrels pointed towards him. "I will take you to to the drive. Follow me please."

As Christoff spun around, he tripped on what seemed to be his shoelace and toppled over, seizing the stocky henchman by the shoulders to maintain his balance.

Alva grinned as he heard the scuffle, knowing well that Christoff had never accidentally tripped and fallen before.

_Accidentally, that is._

"Shove off!" The henchman shouted, kneeing Christoff in the stomach.

"Apologies." Christoff grinned eerily, even though his eyes watered with pain. He made an almost imperceptible motion with his free hand.

The henchman appraised Johnny as he dusted off his shirt. "D'ya think he's really gonta give us the package?"

"Ya see here, Larry: Unless he's some goddamn magician, it don't matter if he wants ta give or not. I got the gun. You got the muscle. Lars gots the brains. Nuthin' he can do 'bout us. Jus' watch the crackpot and guard the Sheriff's letter."_  
_

Larry seemed satisfied with the answer. He stayed and watched Christoff led his companions away.

He smirked confidently. Another easy job: Johnny was easily the most efficient man the cartel had, or at least the most accurate. That "Christoff" man was so clumsy that he had tripped on a shoelace. There was no way he best the boss.

Larry yawned and instinctively reached for his sidearm...

which was when he suddenly realized what had happened.

* * *

"Let me disarm the failsafes so that the machine does not destroy everything in a five-meter radius upon activation," Christoff stated without emotion, as he opened up one of the panels on the black box started to place components on the ground. Johnny's henchman involuntarily backed off to a safe distance.

"Eh? Whaddoes that mean? What the hell he's doin', Lars?" Johnny counted the rounds in his rifle clip before slapping it back in. Christoff removed a large monitor and carefully laid it against the car's doors.

The henchman cracked his knuckles. "Well, Johnny, seem's he's getting it prepped or some'tin. Ya might wanna back up a bit. Keep yer eyes on 'im, our sources'll pay good for that hunk a' junk in his car. Hey! Christoff, right? No funny business, understand?"

No response.

Johnny nodded and walked to join his henchman, where they soon struck up a conversation about some raid they had done several years ago.

Christoff spun on his right heel, holding a chalky white block of what looked like play-doh.

"Catch."

Johnny fumbled his rifle for an instant as the block flew towards him, an opening for Christoff to press a button ... and whip out a non-regulation Walther PPK he had swiped from Larry.

Lars sputtered. "Shit! Johnny, that's a block o-"

"Funny business?" Christoff grimaced as he shot a surprised Lars in his center of mass. The shell casing flew out from the smoking chamber as the gun kicked in his hand.

"This is not funny business." Bang. A shell casing clinked to the ground. "This is Science!" Bang. A shell casing clinked to the ground."_This is NATURAL SELECTION!_"

Bang.

Christoff back-flipped over his SUV, taking a briefcase with him. Johnny came to his senses, brought the gun to his shoulder, and prepared to fire ... until he caught what was displayed on the screen of monitor:

executing file : failsafe_self_ destruct . exe...

Johnny finally deduced what exactly that block was. He immediately stumbled back in sheer, unadulterated terror. "AHHFUC-"

A shell casing clinked to the ground.

Christoff huddled on the other side of his car just as the C4 violently detonated. Pieces of meat and metal pinged off the car as Christoff opened up the briefcase and visually confirmed that the drive was in working condition.

Larry skidded to a halt as Christoff stood and came around the car. Bellowing an incomprehensible war cry, he charged forward, one fist raised. Larry's well-muscled biceps tightened as he threw forth a fist that could dent steel.

Christoff stepped aside, but slightly too late: Larry's index finger glanced off his shoulder, slamming it with a sickening crunch. Christoff grunted with pain, but shrugged it off and retaliated with swift thrust kick to Larry's solar plexus.

Larry staggered back a single step, off balance from his massive attack and Christoff's counter. Christoff wasted no time in seizing Larry's extended arm. Swiftly positioning himself so that Larry's arm rested on his good shoulder, Christoff elbowed Larry in the abdomen as he wrenched the arm downwards, bending the elbow in the wrong direction...and more importantly, using Larry's arm as a lever to lever to throw him towards the ground at bone-shattering speed. His left hand darted out while Larry was midair, snatching the Sheriff's letter from his pocket.

Larry smashed into the hood of Christoff's SUV, agitating a cloud of dust motes that, until then, had been peacefully drifting ... and splattering blood over the windshield.

JC turned about-face to observe his handiwork, a slight frown on his well-worn and hardened features.

"Looks like it is time to get a new paint job," Christoff muttered as he briskly stepped away. The setting sun glimmered in the pool of red, which dripped off the side of the blue SUV...

* * *

Alva was in the exact same posture that Christoff had found him.

"So. How was it, bud?"

Christoff grimaced. "Our automotive was damaged, and along with it, many auxiliary accessories. I saved the ancillary processor in the briefcase."

Alva sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Nice gun swipe, dude. Almost didn't notice. I see that you got the letter. Cool. Dunno about you, but reeducation centers suck."

His eyes imperceptibly flitted over Christoff from head to toe. Christoff knew that Alva was performing a perfunctory scan for potential injuries; despite his reckless demeanor, Alva still had some slight notions of concern. Well, 50% of the time.

"Beating up three experienced thugs, and only dislocating your left shoulder? Impressive. Can I ask ya where you learnt to fight like that?"

Christoff realized that in their two years of collaboration, Alva had learnt close to nothing about him, and Christoff had learnt close to everything about Alva. Except, of course, Alva's _real_ name.

Christoff sighed. Well, a few secrets told could never hurt.

But business first.

"I will tell you all that you want to know on the drive to the coordinates the Sheriff gave us. Therefore, get _off_ your lazy ass and _on_ your goddamn feet."

"Love ya too, motherfucker," Alva groaned as he peeled himself off the ground.


	2. Baptism of Christoff

_5 Years Earlier:_

_Bzzt._

_Bzzt._

_Bzzt._

_Click._

_Hello? Is this Sheriff Renault?_

_Yes, it is I. What's the matter?_

_Okay. This is Officer Beorg speaking. We have heard civilian reports of a gunshot. We suspect the worst._

_Give me more details, Officer._

_Intel limited, sir. It seems to be in one of the more classier neighborhoods, so we need all hands on the field immediately before they sue the state to bankruptcy._

_And, Officer?_

_Yes, sir?_

_ITS FUCKING 3 AM!_

_Sorry, sir._

_No. I mean, if it's 3 AM, it wasn't some bar fight gone wrong! It wasn't a hunting accident or anything!_

_Apologies, sir, but please clarify. What exactly do you mean?_

_I heard the gunshot all the way across the damn city. Those shots were from a high-powered rifle. A SNIPER WEAPON. __It was a hit! A GOD DAMNED ASSASSINATION!_

_...permission to speak candidly, sir?_

_Speak._

_Shit is going to happen, sir__._

_Doesn't it always? I'll meet you at the scene. Keep this between us two. I'm trusting you, Officer._

_Yes, sir. Beorg out!_

_Click_

* * *

"Who's our man, Officer?"

Officer Beorg shuffled his portly frame uncomfortably as Sheriff Renault ducked his tall and broad shoulders under the police line."Sir. Reports claim that the victim is Gabriel Hocke. We have uncovered files from his residence confirming previous allegations of his drug trafficking."

"Figures. He's the guy I let go. Damnit. Thought he was clean."

"With all due respect, sir, we should focus on the case at hand."

Sheriff Renault turned an intense gaze on Beorg, who shrunk in equal parts respect and terror.

"Anything else, Officer?"

Renault was ruthless. He had served 10 excellent years as a special operations agent in the military, claiming dozens of kills. His personal file (which he allowed every officer to access, despite its confidentiality), revealed that he had tortured three men to death for one piece of information. Psych reports showed that he regretted it later...even though that information had saved a city of two million.

Yes, once upon a time, Renault was the ideal image of chivalry and civil conduct. He had a unyielding sense of justice. What happened?

It started the day his son disappeared. Karel's car was found wrecked on the side of the road. His body was nowhere to be seen, although the blood stains showed a positive match.

After Karel's disappearance, his wife suffered from terminal cancer and perished in a hospital after valiantly fighting the disease for two years. Beorg was there when Renault came out of that room...the room where the Anna lay, her eyes closed forever. He didn't have to be in the room to know what her last wish was.

It was the first and last time that he had ever seen Renault with tears in his eyes.

Every day, he would return, hoping to find some new leads as to his son's location. His emotions began to harden. It seemed his face had become one of stone.

Years passed.

Beorg saw Renault descend from an optimistic and well-intentioned man into a depressed wreck. Every day, Renault would appear, arriving semi-hopeful, but leaving a dead man walking. His son never reappeared, and soon, he stopped searching.

He tried to escape his conscience, Anna's last request. He tried alcohol. He tried drugs. Those didn't work.

He tried violence. He began visit local martial arts dojos. After he exhausted the supply of willing (and unwilling) combatants in the local dojos, he would go home and demolish punching bag after punching bag. Neighbors would complain of his enraged shouting and the immense, and almost constant thumps, that came from his apartment...

Some neighbors claimed that he also used stubborn criminals who wouldn't talk as practice, for occasionally, they heard screams of pain.

"Beorg. I asked for the sitrep!"

"Apologies, sir! Mr. Hocke's penthouse is on the fifth floor. Caution advised, sir."

"That will be all, Officer. Please examine office buildings A and B, and report to me ASAP. I want updates only on covered channel 13.78. Understand, Officer?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And Beorg?"

"Sir?"

"I'm always careful."

* * *

The flashlight glared into the room, slicing into room; a keen bardiche in the dark. Renault was its wielder. He deftly scanned the room.

His eyebrows lifted up. The rifle was still perched on the sill. An amateur mistake...or an expertly-placed trap. No matter.

"Come out before I use the tear gas!" Renault brandished the gas grenade with righteous fervor.

No response.

"I'll give you _five seconds!_"

_four..._

_three..._

_two..._

_one..._

Renault pulled the pin and chucked the 'nade over a cubicle wall. It clunked to the ground shortly before the room was choked in noxious fumes.

Beorg's panicked voice came in over the mic. "Renault! There's gass on your floor!"

"No worries. Cornered the rat here, using toxins to flush him out; requesting overwatch on the double! Go!"

The fist came out of the clouds, too quick for Renault to block.

Too fast to block...so Renault dodged instead. The knuckles slammed into the door frame, splintering the wood.

The masked man emerged from the fog.

Renault yanked out his revolver. "Stop right there!" He pulled back the hammer with his thumb and steadied his aim.

"Renault. You have made powerful enemies. You have made powerful friends. Both were made unknowingly. What a fool." The assassin seemed to chuckle.

"**Shut up!** Hands in the air, or I shoot!"

The assassin seemed to evaporate, only to coalesce next to Renault. He swiftly chopped at Renault's gun hand using an open-handed strike. Renault watched helplessly as his revolver skittered across the floor.

"You let that drug dealer go, but he was no drug dealer. He was an agent of the AAHW. That granted you allies. That granted you foes. I am one of those foes."

The man's mask was worth noting. It depicted a bull goring an unfortunate victim, with eye slits appearing as bloody gashes on the bull's torso.

Renault winced, holding his bruised wrist. "Who the fuck _are_ you?"

"You know _quite_ enough about me, my friend."

Renault desperately tried to pinpoint that voice. It seemed distorted a bit, as if some sort of electronic device was aiding his speech...

And those eyes...where? Where had he seen them? Was he from the spec ops squad? Impossible.

_Renault had tortured them all to death._

"You bear a puzzled look. You are a fool. Oh yes, quite the fool. Even your comrade on his way here is my foe. He is an agent too. Your police force is quite corrupt, hmm?"

Those familiar eyes glared through the slits. "Rest assured, know that the Anti-AAHW understandably hates the AAHW. You are standing in the crossfires; in no-man's land. I am committed to the former organization. We are always searching for talent: will you join us? Or must I fight you to the death?"

Renault's left hand began to creep towards his other weapon...a ten-inch serrated-titanium kabar knife. It had seven notches for seven kills, and Renault liked to think that it was hungry for another.

"I don't know who you are. I don't want to know. I am justice, and the need for order trumps any petty feud. Backup is on the way, so fucking put your hands up already!"

The man hesitated for a half second before he tore off the mask.

Renault gaped. The face was so horribly burnt...so disfigured...and recognizable.

The man grimaced. "I am pretty sure you know who I am _now_. And because you know who I am...the code of honor dictates that only one of us is allowed to leave this room alive."

The man hesitated for another half second before he seized Renault's hand, with the knife in it, and used it to impale his own heart.

Renault gaped. As he realized...he was frozen. He couldn't move. No. It couldn't be.

He knelt, still holding the knife. "I'm sorry, Anna."

His eyes were dry.

The sound of footsteps came from the hallway.

"Renault! What the hell have you done!"

Beorg stared, wide eyed. Renault stood up over the corpse, bloody blade in hand.

"Yes, Beorg. I killed him."

Surprise, then reluctance, then firmness, set into Beorg's face.

"I'm sorry sir, but I will have to arrest you for second degree murder. Please drop all weapons and put your hands up."

Kch-chunk. Beorg racked the slide on his sidearm: An IMI Mark II Desert Eagle.

"No. It wasn't unplanned murder. It was planned. I thought it out before coming here. First degree, Beorg."

"Renault...the punishment for that is death!"

"Exactly."

A thought ran through Renault's head: The unmasked man had more honor than Renault had. He would rather kill himself than kill a peace keeper, an agent of justice. He also did it for his organization, so that it would not get into legal hot water. His dedication was admirable.

Another thought ran through...Beorg's side arm. It was too large of a caliber to be legally permitted for police forces. Something was going on. Something secretive and subversive. Something that Renault should not have seen and should not have been involved with.

Just like the unmasked man...his son...had said.

Renault stared into the sky. A sun was rising over the gloom, throwing its reddish glare over SIN. Renault felt the firm clamp of the cuffs on his bloodied hands.

"Anna. I have found him and sent him to you...and I shall join you both soon."

* * *

_Agent 2515? Beorg? Hello? You wished to contact me - I mean - us?_

_Yes, master. Anti-AAHW agent number 17, nicknamed "Desperado," has been finally eliminated. And, check this out: Turns out he was Karel Renault._

_Karel Renault. Figures._

_Indeed. What should I do, master?_

_Send the Sheriff Renault to the court. We'll have him arrested, and then he will escape. He will become a new person, and he will owe us. This Renault man seems a useful ally. Keep him under your thumb._

_Be warned, Headquarters, Sheriff Renault is a capable sheriff, so we will need a replacement. Furthermore, he has a strange desire for justice..._

_...yes, 2515, he might turn on us. But if we get him on our side, we may win this war for good. And remember: he "killed" his own son. He's a broken man..._

_...and broken men can be easily molded._

_See it done, Beorg, and you may find yourself sitting in that Sheriff's seat. HQ out._

* * *

"The jury finds the defendant guilty."

"Defendant pleads guilty on all charges!" The defense attorney announced before returning to his seat. He twiddled his thumbs, evidently uninterested.

Renault never looked worse. The bags under his eyes were almost an inch long. He was emaciated; he had been fasting for a week by now. His prison clothes dangled from his bony frame.

He lost the will to live.

"This court finds that your plea of guilty is knowingly, voluntarily, and intelligently made. Therefore, this court finds Jebus Renault guilty of premeditated, first-degree murder. You are to be sentenced to a quick and painless death. May God have mercy on your soul."

"It is going to take...more than that...to have mercy on _this _soul." Renault grinned creepily.

* * *

"So, you've got a choice. The chair or the syringe." The man sneered at Renault over his desk.

"Which...which one is more painful? Which one is the slowest to kill?"

"That'd be the chair, I guess."

"So be it."

"Guards, take this man to his cell."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The guards slammed the door shut. As one of them turned, he seemed to have dropped something.

The bloodthirsty knife. The Kabar.

Renault seized it immediately and unsheathed it. He raised it high and prepared to slash his wrists when...

the note slipped out of the handle and fell on the ground:

_Renault:_

_Do not waste your life. You burn with righteousness and justice. I knew you wanted to kill yourself the moment you said "first degree murder." __Do not be selfish; t__he world needs you. Justice. Order. These are the things that are very fragile here in SIN. You must restore them to their proper place._

_We will have a liaison meet you outside._

_Come on, Renault. I've seen you fight before. It's a knife. You know what to do._

_-Beorg_

And just like that, Renault woke up.

"What the hell am I doing. No one must ever suffer as I have. I am a coward to suggest fleeing. What would Karel be thinking? He would be disgusted. No. YES! Now, NOW is the time to change!"

It was said that Jebus Renault's oath was so powerful that even though he whispered it, the words carried themselves out of his cell all the way to the last, dark corners of every soul, saint and sinner alike:

**_I hereby swear,_**

**_By my stolen life,_**

**_By my long-gone innocence,_**

**_My slavery__ to Order,_**

**_My bondage to Justice._**

**_I shall never meet my family,_**

**_I shall never meet peace or love_**

**_until Justice and Order reign._**

**_And so it begins._**

* * *

Renault's face still stung from the needles. The plastic surgery was very extensive, and he should technically still be recovering...

The man in shades handed Renault a data pad:

_Hello, Jebidiah Christoff._

_Be warned that Jebus Renault is still wanted for resisting authority, as well as many first and second degree murders. After discovering his violent jailbreak, his head is wanted by the rich and poor alike, dead or alive. Currently, there are 3 professional assassins, at least 20 hired thugs, 4 local gangs, and approximately 2 agents from the criminal association known as the "Anti-AAHW" out to find him._

_You bear only 30% resemblance to your previous self. However, it would do you much good to "forget" your past life._

_You are a head professor at the local Agency Against Human Warfare Laboratories (location attached). Please report there on weekdays from 7 AM to PM. You will be given good pay and a new chance at life._

_And remember. You don't know me. You know what to do with your life._

_Cheers,_

_Sheriff Beorg_

_PS: Feel free to kick some ass in your free time. It'll make my job easier._

Renault/Christoff smirked. He entered as a criminal. He left as a head researcher.

Interesting.

A man with shades took out a sidearm-another IMI Desert Eagle-and shot the data pad, blasting it into bits.

Christoff-for that was his new name-looked at the agent.

"You saw the message, correct?"

Christoff was impressed: the surgeons were surprisingly thorough. Even his voice had changed.

The man gulped nervously. "Yes, sir. I did see the message."

"Then you know what to do too."

The agent shut his eyes and signed in resignation as he brought his sidearm to his temple and pulled the trigger, splattering his brains over the wall. Grey ooze dripped down the russet bricks as his headless corpse slunk down.

The agent's blood showered on Christoff, who calmly removed his spectacles and wiped them on his lab coat sleeve. He laughed a harsh laugh. How apt, this was. He was a new man, to live a new life. He even had a baptism...in blood.

He pocketed the dead man's sidearm and clips, before strolling towards the Blue SUV parked at the sidewalk.

There was a time when he would have cared about men dying for little reason. That time was long gone, buried under years of pain.

Nothing would ever soften the callouses on his heart.

"Time to get to work," Christoff manipulated the car wheel with one hand.

Two hours later, and there it was...

* * *

"We're here, Christoff." Alva snapped his fingers multiple times. Loudly.

"and there it was...hmm?"

Twin black streaks appeared on the road as Christoff ground the brakes.

"Jeezus, dude! Watch the roa-Heeey...wait a sec. Are you sure these are the right coordinates?"

Christoff nodded.

_Nexus Laboratories:_

_Reanimation Department_

___(Depts. 1.5 A-F)_

_Please deposit cadavers at Dept. 1.5 A - Science Post_

"Welcome to zombieland, I guess." Alva quipped.

"Ah. Yes. Time to join my fellow walking dead."

"Oh, and, sorry about your wife...and son...and I guess your life. Hey, that rhym-"

"I need neither your sympathy nor your shitty jokes. I need you to keep your mouth shut about this matter. Or else...you know what to do too."

Alva gulped nervously.

* * *

**A.N:** Hello, comrades of the revolution!

I am taken aback by the glowing reviews. It is quite amazing how a few words can brighten up the darkest of days.

I'll be frank: These stories could be better. I'd say that I'm slapping ideas down onto paper as they surface. What could make the writing better? Well, I just need _you_ (yes, you!) to add in a review in that box down below and tell me what's wrong, what seems shifty or off, you know, the usual.

Finally: Thank you guys for accepting me into this community. Rarely do I meet such inviting groups on the wide expanses of the internet.

Now let's start a revolution.

_-Maxima_


	3. The Brink of Chaos

"So. What the hell are you doing creating a machine that will _cause_ chaos, rather than fixing chaotic shit?"

"Well, Alva, think of it like this: I am not bringing chaos into the planet. Rather, I am bringing order into chaos. Is that not so bad?"

"JC. Bro. I'm no idiot. I've already thought of that. Why are you _really_ here?"

"Think about it some more, Alva."

"...I still don't get it. That doesn't happen very often."

"Then let us hope it stays that way."

* * *

Two very heavily armored guards sauntered towards the SUV. The sun glinted off their titanium-plate armor, but Christoff was not deceived by the armor's seemingly cumbersome nature; those guards strode with the lithe walk of professional acrobats.

"What the hell...what happened to those guards?" Alva quipped, noting the guards.

"Muscular and neural augmentations. Common among hired protection companies. These men look like the ones the Sheriff hired for our little experiments."

"Well, they certainly are well-armed. Those weapons are the work of black marketeers."

"Stay alert, Alva. Watch these men closely."

"I watch everyone closely, JC. Including you. No homo though, bro. Hey, that rhy-"

A guard rapped on the window. Alva reluctantly cut off the sentence, unlocked the door and stepped outside. A cloud of cigarette smoke billowed from the guard's lips as he leaned against the hood of the car, idly twirling a SMG around his index finger. The other guard sullenly stood against a building, his face covered by a plate-metal mask with a transparent-red visor. Christoff followed Alva and towered over the guardsman, despite the guard's augmented height.

"Welcome to Reani, docs. My name is Fred, and I'll your friendly tour guide for today. Just follow me and my friend Burt over there."

Christoff scowled at his lax attitude. "Stand up STRAIGHT soldier! Weapons aside, at the ready! When you address me, finish with 'Lieutenant Colonel Christoff, Sir!'"

Fred smirked. "Military? Impressive. Sorry, _sir_, but we don't follow protocol here. We do what gets the job done."

Christoff's scowl deepened.

Fred turned to Alva. "We should be moving. And, by the way, is your buddy always like that?"

Alva nodded somberly, not saying a word.

Fred sighed explosively. "Christ, this is gonna suck. Follow me, Lieutenant Colonel, sir."

* * *

"This here's the Science post. People are gonna deposit cadavers here, so take showers daily." Fred deftly slipped on a pair of latex gloves. "Pro tip: Always keep gloves on when handling anything in here. All kindsa nasty germs in those bodies, hmm?"

Fred casually walked through the corridor, pointing out each section as he passed.

"Here would be the observation rooms."

"Here's the main processing database. You'll have to make a coupling so it's compatible with the drive."

"Here's the armory. All the scientists here are gun nuts. Which is creepy. Aaanyways, Moving along..."

A couple flights of stairs later, and he stopped.

"Doc-I mean-Lieutenant Colonel Christoff, sir? Here would be your workstation. The improb drive is gonna be stored here, because it might interfere with our experimental power source. Right here would be..."

Alva butted in. "Hold the phone. Experimental power source? What? Are you going to fit some uber-generator in that skinny as fuck tower over there? With no coolant? And, don't try to fool me, Fred; You can't build underground generators in a desert. Fusion reactors are decades away, so the only way to go in places like this is solar, and there seems to be an absence of solar panels around here."

Fred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Try not to ask these kindsa questions. Our boss doesn't take those too kindly. And people he dislikes tend to disappear."

Christoff towered over Fred as he cracked his knuckles. "Is that a threat, soldier?"

The glint in Fred's eyes died down quickly. "No, sir; merely a fact. Come on, Doc. I need to show you to your office. It's in the next building. Lieutenant Colonel, you can stay here 'till we come back."

Alva raised his eyebrows in surprise. "We aren't working in the same building? JC and I are like bros, right?"

Christoff said nothing. The silence weighed down on all four of the men.

Christoff spoke. "I am not your br-"

Fred cut in: "You know what? Just ask Phobos later on. He can give you some answers, since you are both now head researchers."

"What? Head researchers? Explain yourself."

"Well, the previous ones...disappeared. It's easy to hide evidence here." Fred grimaced as he pointed towards one of the cadaver storage rooms. "A lot of shady shit goes on, but as long as I point my gun where the boss tells me to point it, it's all good for me. Let's get moving."

* * *

The tower was surprisingly high, but the group had finally reached the Solarium.

"And this concludes our tour of facility 1.5! Any questions, just ask for me. Phobos is right behind this door, so if you want to talk to him, go on ahead."

Christoff nodded. It was time for some answers.

Alva tapped Christoff's shoulder. "You _have_ noticed all these danger signs, correct?"

The steel door slid open vertically. Christoff strode in without acknowledging Alva's observation. Alva quickly backed out of the room.

And there was Phobos.

Christoff glowered as he beheld what might have once been a man. Under the two inch-thick steel plates encasing his torso, was a crisp, white bandages. they covered his face...except for his head, which, under a thick metal helmet, had some sort of large steel box attached to it. A red light flickered on and seemed to "stare" at Christoff.

Christoff strode towards one of the posters on the wall. He ripped it down, exposing a minuscule surveillance bug, which he swiftly crushed. He spun about, hands behind his back.

"Phobos, I presume?"

The apparition stood. The steel plates groaned as he stood and pushed back his chair. Something resembling a laugh emanated from the box on his head. A completely computerized voice came from speakers embedded in the armor as Phobos unsheathed a blade from over his shoulder. Christoff flicked out his knife, twirled it around his thumb, and readied it into a fighting stance.

"Ah! My old buddy, Jebus! Times have changed, indeed. You can put down Mr. Kabar. I won't fight you."

Christoff raised his eyebrows as he slowly lowered his knife. His knees were still bent in a fighting stance, however, ready to leap in any direction. He spoke:

"Apologies. I feel as if we have not met before."

"Of course. That is understandable, considering I am covered in these damn bandages. But you will remember who I am when I say 'Greenville.'"

Christoff took a step back. Greenville. Oh God, not Greenville.

Spec ops mission 7, March 16th...Population of two million...threatened by a nuclear device planted by traitors...

The men he had tortured to death. His squad mates. The intel was right; they _were_ the traitors. Christoff stopped the bomb from being detonated.

Phobos "laughed" again. "You thought you killed us all that day. See? I remembered that date. Look!"

He hurled the sword at Christoff's feet.

The sword...it was a work of art. The blade seemed to part the air as it came through, embedding itself up to the hilt in the ground, slicing through the steel-alloy floor like a chainsaw through balsa.

Christoff, with little effort, yanked the sword out of the floor, leaving a gaping wound in the ground. The blade was hefty, but crafted expertly. Christoff set the hilt on his index finger, and balanced it. It stood perfectly still, demonstrating an incredibly well-balanced blade.

He quickly noticed the numbers. They were in binary.

"Yes, binary...Binary for on and off, life and death, yin and yang. I have been waiting, Renault..."

Christoff made a couple swings with the "binary" sword. Its mass granted each swipe the potential to cleave any foe into pieces, while it was so superbly balanced, that manipulating it seemed effortless. It was the ultimate weapon. He nodded in approval, then dropped it on the ground and kicked it. It clattered away.

"Renault. I would like to give this sword to you."

"What? No. I am not taking this sword. Its peerless quality will entice men into killing more than I must. On the other hand, you are an unjust bastard. You are responsible for the deaths of the previous head scientists and countless others. You must confess. Face justice, or suffer consequences."

"I knew you would not take the sword. Pity. I was hoping for a challenge before I killed you."

The light on the metal box glared an increasingly intense glare.

"I will not kill you until you try to touch that sword again. I will be even more kind that that; I will not _try_ to kill you until you try to touch that sword again. Oh yes. I know why you are here. You are here because you are an inquisitive little bug, and insects must be crushed."

The pieces came together...all of a sudden, Christoff remembered who this man once was.

* * *

_There was a creaky light and a chair. The bleeding man slumped in that chair, his arms cuffed to the armrests. His shirt was soaked with sweat and blood. Flies incessantly pestered him._

_"Tell me where the nuke is hidden. Now." Renault circled the victim, grimacing._

_"Fuck you, Renny. I thought we were friends. Don't do this to me."_

_"I don't know about you, but my true friends don't fuck with millions of lives FOR MONEY."_

_ "...I thought...we were..."_

_"No. You betrayed your comrades, your country, your honor. Tell me where the nuke is and I will make it swift."_

_"It's you who doesn't understand! Renault! Listen to me! The AAH-"_

_The fist came out. It demonstrated a great lack of technique...but an equally great amount of raw strength._

_The victim exhaled violently as the punch hit his face, snapping his head backwards._

_"God damnit! Just tell me!"_

_The bleeding man spat out a few teeth. Blood streamed from both nostrils._

_"Fug you, bidch."_

_The fist came out again. And again._

_"Where?!"_

_"NO!"_

_"Where?!"_

_"aggk...n-no!"_

_"Where?! GOD DAMNIT WHERE?! LIEUTENANT PHILIPS! FUCKING TELL ME!"_

_Philips grinned his eerie, gap-toothed grin. His words were almost incoherent as his bloody nose and missing teeth adversely affected his speech: "Renny, if..iif you are...my frien, find a...preddy weppun an'... an' jus finis de job alredy."_

_Renault wore his mask of steel, but his voice quavered. "No, Philip. I know you loved swords. But no swords today, my friend. Tell me where the nuke is."_

_A shaking head._

_He took out the Kabar and scratched another notch in it before using it to impale Philips in the stomach._

_Philips looked up, tears in his eyes. "Aakglh..De n...I have de nuke. indernally emplanded."_

_Renault withdrew the knife and sliced open the bonds._

_"Philips. You have one last chance to redeem yourself. Get as far away from this city before you die. Sorry, friend. I ruptured stomach...it's a slow, painful death."_

_Philips groaned in pain as he stood. "Th...thang you."  
_

_"One last thing Phil: If you somehow survive, if you want, give me the sword, and let me finish the job."_

_He nodded as he staggered out of the room._

* * *

Lieutenant First-class Philip Locket. Tech specialist. Medieval warfare enthusiast. Gamer. Friend.

Criminal. Traitor. Murderer. Monster.

"You named yourself 'Phobos.' Fear. Your previous nickname was 'Phil.' Love."

"Clever Christoff! You finally found the truth! I Fear Love. After all, my friends have done nothing but wound me on the inside and outside...literally."

Phobos leaped closer. The ground slightly shook as his plate armor clanked. Christoff noticed how he seemed to effortlessly fly several meters vertically in the air before landing...what the hell was happening?

"Personal feud aside; I lead my happy band of mercs, and was recently hired by the AAHW. I am supposed to keep you alive. I am also supposed to keep the government from finding out this facility! Oh fun! What a dilemma; which one should I choose? Oh! I know! Once this contract is over, I will find you and your buddy, and we will have some very _friendly_ moments together. Heh. What irony. Hah. This is hilarious! I_ just can't WAIT!_ HA. HA HA HA."

Christoff quickly stepped backwards out of the room. The steel door closed in front of him with a _snik_. He doubled over and took a deep breath. That was...unnerving.

Alva leaned against the wall adjacent to the door, shuddering. "I wasn't even in the room, and I want to unhear that shit."

It was then when Christoff realized that he too was shivering. His hands trembled uncontrollably.

His voice dropped to an imperceptible whisper.

"Alva...I need you to get his trust. Become his friend. Get access. I certainly will not be able to enter this building freely, given my...history with Phobos."

Alva's eyes widened.

"Bro. That's asking a lot. We're work mates. Not friends. I think."

Christoff willed his hands to stop shaking. Soon, they did.

"I know that someday we both will burn in Hell. That is as close to friendship I will ever get. I sense that this is the same for you."

"...umm, well...I guess you're lucky I didn't log my name into the system yet. Just don't give my name to anyone. My pseudonym now on is Hoffnar. Doctor Tracy Hoffnar. I am not Alva; I have no idea who he is. Tracy Hoffnar is going to net some good relations with Phobos, but not Alva. Alva was killed while operating the drive two weeks ago, and some random-ass genius intern took over. That's the story. Got it?"

"Of course, Doctor Hoffnar."

* * *

"Please. Come in."

Doctor Hoffnar confidently strode into the room. He looked quite different from Alva. He wore a different hair style than he did previously, adorned a different set of spectacles, and wore a white lab-coat as opposed to his typical gray attire. His ID card attached to his breast pocket proudly displayed his status: Doctor Tracy Hoffnar, lead scientist, division 1.5.

"I have the reports here, sir. We have made incredible progress."

"Sir? No need to address me as 'sir.' I am merely a protective measure. One thing irks my curiosity, however. Why is the sky so..._red?_"

Hoffnar stepped to the window and gestured towards the ruby-red skies.

"The improbability drive causes unknown repercussions. This is one of them. Fortunately, we are limiting the power consumption of the drive, so the sky only appears red in a two-kilometer radius. From space, or from SIN, this facility looks completely normal."

"Good. Any reports on reanimation?"

"The drive has proven to be extremely useful. We have already devised three methods to restore movement to humans in a dead state."

"Do tell."

"Method one involves minor amounts of manipulation with the drive. By replacing a destroyed or inactive heart with a live and healthy one, it is possible to bring the corpse back to life. These corpses possess immense strength. However, there are setbacks. A large voltage shock is required to reanimate them. They possess no sentience whatsoever except basic hunt-and-gather instincts. Their senses, and nerves, are inoperable. Most importantly, a corpse revived this way will only stay revived for the period of twenty-four hours. We nickname these subjects 'Zombies'"

"Continue."

"Method two is...admittedly, terrifying. There is a sizeable quanta of data stored in the passed subject's brain, which can be extracted with the drive. Having recovered the memories of many talented people, we 'stitched' them together, including the best aspects, and grafted them into the dead brain tissue. After that, we sew the corpse together the best we can and use reani . exe to see what happens. Unfortunately, the massive amount of information begins to seemingly overload the sentient part of the brain, only leaving intact the motor control portions of the brain. The resulting subject still possesses no indications of an IQ higher than 50. However, these specimens are...agile, to say the least. Terrifyingly so. Very deadly. These specimens burn out most of the glucose stored in the body quite quickly, and die of exhaustion in less than ten hours, on average. We call them 'Abominations.'"

"Hmm. Interesting. And finally?"

"Method three is by far the most successful. We use the improbability drive to create a cybernetic brain-plate, which looks much like yours. This can perform every necessary calculation for normal human movement. The brain-plate is made of a Aluminum-titanium alloy, the metal they use in landing struts for commercial aircraft. It is extremely durable, and can be remotely reactivated up to three times before it overloads itself as a safety procedure. It has enough battery to last for approximately three days at a time. Most of these subjects are able to walk right now, but are swathed in bandages because their skin has not fully re-formed yet. Furthermore, they are deaf, mute, colorblind, and have no memories. They act like, and are called, 'sleepwalkers.'"

Phobos set his feet on the desk and made contented rumbling noise, which contrasted with the robotic words emanating from his speakers. "You are competent. I can appreciate that. Unlike that slacker, Christoff."

Alva's personality manifested itself for a second...until he forced Hoffnar's personality to take over again."Christoff. Psh. Between you and me, nobody needs him. All he does is stare at his desk and act depressed. Maybe we should 'disappear' him."

"Hold your hand, Hoffnar. I would like to 'disappear' him too, but I heard that this man has connections to the Sheriff. How about I wait for my paycheck first, and then we see about ridding ourselves of another insect."

"Of course. I'll keep you updated, Phobos."

"Keep on going like this, and you will find yourself sitting beside me, Hoffnar. Excellent work. And remember; do not try anything stupid. You may end up dead, and you are a pretty important person to our project, no?"

Hoffnar and Alva's personalities fought for control over his face and speech. "Uhh...of course! Stupidity always causes deaths. You know, like the Darwin awards. Anyways, I have to go now. Until next time, Phobos!" Alva's voice quavered slightly as he stepped backwards out of the Solarium. The door shut behind him with a strange finality. _Snik._

* * *

"And that was it?"

"Yeah. Can I stop being Hoffnar now?"

"Yes. You may. I will be meeting the Sheriff soon to discuss these matters with him. Your report will make evidence conclusive." Christoff smiled wanly and returned to his work.

"Mind if I watch?"

Christoff shook his head. He idly punched in numbers to the drive as the other scientists monitored a solid steel retainer-door. Behind it was one hundred kilos of biological destruction: a zombie. Its glistening yellow teeth contrasted starkly with the greenish rotting flesh and its bleeding gums. It reminded Alva of a watermelon...a twisted, mutant, watermelon that reveled in pure destruction. The scientists standing by finished their calculations and calmly flicked a switch mounted on the side of the door.

Alva watched as the corpse writhed in the flames, a fate its owner's soul had to suffer as it crossed the gates of Hell.

He couldn't help but imagine himself as one of those damned souls. Oh yes, he had quite a history too. One that he had hidden from Christoff quite well.

* * *

The Sheriff leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette. Next to him stood a very well-armed man wearing shades and a tuxedo. Completely inconspicuous.

When the Sheriff spotted Christoff in his peripheral vision, he made a hand motion to his bodyguard, who promptly ambled towards a nearby poker table.

Christoff stepped towards the Sheriff with purpose. He put Alva's report on the table and splayed the papers and photographs.

"Sheriff Beor-Sheriff. I would have liked to have thought that you were a protector of Order and Justice."

Sheriff Beorg grinned, still chomping on his cancer stick. "Well, partner, things change when you get hold of power. Lotsa things, you know? I am on your side, Jeb. I just was thinkin' we could be making a mutually beneficial deal here."

Christoff frowned. "A deal. Why would you request a meeting in such a popular place, then?" Christoff gestured towards the diners at the adjacent tables.

The 'riff's grin widened. "Why, partner, all these diners are _my_ men. I kinda hoped you would've noticed. Anyways, back to my deal. You know the reason I stationed you at Reani?"

"No."

Beorg leaned closer. "I know you are a wrecking ball of justice. I want you to destroy Cell 1.5."

Christoff arched his eyebrows quizzically. "Pardon?"

"You heard me right the first time, partner. You see here, this Phobos character, I hired him for the muscle he and his men pack. He also claimed to have the nuke you asked for in your thesis letter. Well, turns out that he's a nasty, psychopathic sack of shit. I heard he's been taking out my head scientists and basically took over the project for himself. Well, I don't know about you, but I don't want an army of undead on _his_ side. Oh yes, and he is defying many laws. Therefore, I deputize you with the authority to destroy Nexus Cell 1.5."

Christoff shook his head. "Such unlawful murder is completely unjustified. I cannot accept your request. Apologies."

"I was hoping just that would work, but I was obviously mistaken. Alright, partner, I'm going to tell you the real reason. Keep this between us two, or I will reveal your true identity. And yes, that is blackmail."

Christoff's expression darkened, but his voice stayed level. "Tell me."

"Turns out that some random scientists discovered an artifact 30 years ago. It was some random metal ring, a foot in diameter, but irradiated because this desert was once used for nuclear tests. They kept this metal ring under extremely tight security because it seemed to be of an element previously undiscovered. But hear this: every one of those scientists became insane. All the guards became insane. That facility was thrown into utter chaos, and the government was forced to bomb it into pieces because those scientists threatened to unleash chemical weapons on the local populace."

"I was in special operations. We had the best intelligence. Why did I never hear about that?"

"The AAHW has some powerful connections in the military, but that doesn't matter. Just listen up, partner. We managed to retrieve that disk. Seems perfectly okay now that it's lost most of its radiation. But that changed. When your...colleague activated the drive, it started to get really fucking strange. It levitated. It generated gigajoules of energy. When people tried to touch it, they were either fried to a crisp or...well...their head would explode. Brains everywhere, literally. Terrifying shit. It turns out that Phobos was the only one with enough balls to touch it and move it to where we are keeping it now. He was completely unaffected. In fact, you may have noticed that he has gained terrifying powers _because_ of it. That can't happen. You have to stop him."

"How should I do this?"

"I've been keeping close tabs on the project. I had my engineers code this virus here; upload it to the main data frame. It should confuse the more primitive reanimated subjects to turn against the mercenaries. It should also override _most_ door accesses."

"What about me?"

"Make no mistake, partner. The zombies and abominations will attack you too."

"Understood. But, Before I leave, why do you keep on using 'partner' in your sentences? You have never done so before."

"Well, partner, adding it in gives the people I'm talking to a feeling of comfort, as if I'm their friend or something. Subliminally makes them easier to manipulate. It also kinda fits in with the Sheriff theme. My turn. Why do you never use contractions, old friend?"

Christoff's eyes glinted.

"There are reasons an agent of Justice like I cannot use contractions. Each word is given equal depth and emphasis, just like people living on this planet have equal rights to safety and liberty. My use of contractions would be a most gruesome form of hypocrisy. In other words: I could if I wanted do, but I do not want to, so I will not."

The Sheriff nodded understandingly. "Well, partner, I have some business to manage. When you finish with this, come find me, and I'll make sure you're rewarded and cared for. Godspeed."

Christoff briskly stepped outside. While this vigilante work was definitely unlawful...it was right. It was just. If those reasons weren't sufficient, there were still other reasons...personal ones.

It was time to close the loop.


End file.
